Caller of Light (22 page)

A cloud floated overhead, blocking the unforgiving sun. She closed her eyes, relishing the short reprieve. To her surprise, the cloud spoke.

“Sir, we found no one.”

Sampson growled. “Keep looking. He must be out there.”

The cloud shuddered back and forth. She opened her eyes to the awed realization that her cloud was Damon shaking his head. Damon’s back to the sun threw his face in shadow.

“DarkStar is an excellent tracker. If he didn’t find anyone, there’s no one to find.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to prove her taint. Now leave us.”

Damon’s feet stayed fixed in place.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Sampson bristled, his breath hot on her bare stomach.

Damon spoke in a neutral voice. “Aye, but you’ll need a witness to prove she’s impure when she doesn’t bleed. I’ll stand as witness.”

Sampson’s mouth dropped open. “
What?
”

“You’ve made a claim, but Carina has insisted otherwise. When such a discrepancy occurs, there must be a witness.” Damon shrugged. “Although I’m curious King Duncan isn’t the one determining validity, I guess he gave you that authority as his captain.”

Carina listened with a strange, detached wonder. She never knew such matters involved a witness. If she was not in such pain, she might have found the whole concept fascinating…or funny. She wasn’t sure how to react.

Sampson cursed under his breath before grabbing her breasts and pushing off her, his last demeaning act to inflict. She hardly reacted to the additional discomfort as it blurred with the ache already pulsing throughout her body.

Sampson stood over her and adjusted himself. He seemed uncomfortable with the bulge in his pants. The toe of his boot pressed against her side. She waited for the kick that would break her ribs. He cocked his foot, but hesitated and glanced at Damon, his heavy-soled shoe dangling in midair. With an exasperated grunt, he slammed his foot to the ground splashing muddy water in her face. “Bring her,” he ordered, stomping onto shore—the torturer leaving the tortured behind.

Sampson disappeared from view. She lay motionless as the water caressed her battered body, struggling to figure out how this day had gone so awry. Why had Marek chosen her? As a mixed blood any heir she produced would be considered a half-breed. So,
why
? Why would Marek bring another mixed child into the world to be treated with such disdain?

She had forgotten about Damon until he knelt beside her. No longer shielding her from the sun, she squinted at the glaring brightness. He reached for her. “We must go. Let me help you.”

She shrank away from his hand, turning from him. Her entire body throbbed and the pounding in her head made it difficult to think. But even in her foggy state, she would not let anyone touch her. Somehow, she crawled onto her hands and knees and paused in the water to catch her breath. She waited until the hammering in her head faded before undertaking one of the hardest tasks she’d ever asked of herself—standing.

It wasn’t pretty. There was no grace involved as she pushed her hands off the ground to rest on her knees before forcing one foot at a time underneath her. She swayed precariously as the blood rushed from her head leaving her lightheaded, the delicate balance with the ground and gravity in jeopardy. Damon moved to catch her, but she steadied herself without his support.

She walked stiff-legged out of the water, each step slow and calculated as she concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. Damon matched her snail pace, providing himself as a crutch if necessary.

They walked past the small beach that had been so appealing just a short while ago and onto the path where Sampson and the other two waited. From somewhere inside her, she dredged up the nerve to meet Sampson’s gaze. His bitter stare dismissed her like a bug. Her eyes traveled to the soldiers who squirmed in their saddles and noticed everything around them to avoid looking at her.

Damon mounted DarkStar then slid behind the saddle and removed his foot from the stirrup. With an open hand, he leaned forward offering assistance. Walking the short distance to the Critons had consumed all her strength, so climbing onto DarkStar without help seemed insurmountable. She placed her foot in the stirrup and accepted Damon’s hand as he lifted her beat-up body into the saddle.

Although amazed by accomplishing such an impossible feat, she impressed herself further by keeping her back ramrod straight to avoid touching Damon. And except for occasionally brushing against her with his arm as he guided DarkStar into the air, Damon honored her silent request by maintaining his distance as they made the short jump back to Stirrlan where her fate awaited.

29 – BETRAYAL

Carina spotted Marek as they descended. He was leaning against one of the stone pillars that fortified the front entrance to the castle and staring at the setting sun. Damon landed in the rectangular courtyard inside the protective walls just as Marek pushed away from the column and strode her way. A broad, lopsided grin spread across his face as the diminishing sunlight danced in his bright eyes.

He wore a white shirt with an elaborate cross-stitched pattern on the open collar and tan pants. A broadsword was strapped around his waist and a single dirk rested in a sling across his chest, opposite his sword. He looked breathtaking with his hair almost dry from bathing and having just shaved. His appearance made Carina acutely aware of her pitiful state.

“Ah, good, where did you find…” Marek’s smile faded. “By the Gods. Carina, what happened?” His arms stretched up for her.

Not knowing what to do, she let him grab her waist as she swung her leg over DarkStar. Gripping his shoulders, she slid into his arms, which promptly folded and pressed her against his chest. From the safety of his possessive hold, the shock shielding her from the brunt of what had happened slipped away. Uncontrollable tremors racked her body. Tears welled and tumbled down her face. She clung to his shirt and leaned into him to remain standing on rubbery legs. She ignored the surrounding stimuli bombarding her senses by burying her head in his shoulder, but still cringed when Sampson approached.

“What happened,” Marek hissed.

She’d never heard such venom in Marek’s voice. An undercurrent of promised vengeance swam within his tone, and instead of frightening her, she welcomed it. Marek would make things right, Sampson would pay.

“Sire, I have terrible news. Carina betrayed you by bedding another man.”

Marek’s body stiffened. “What?”

“The coward ran when he heard us approach. And when Carina stumbled out of the bushes, her hair was a mess and she’d missed buttons on her shirt in a poor attempt at covering up.”

Marek’s muscular arms unwrapped themselves and her solid wall of safety disappeared as he gently pushed her away. She watched with helpless despair as his eyes traveled down her, and swallowed a moan when his thumb touched the empty button hole at the bottom of her shirt.

She wanted to defend herself, but the anguish in his eyes silenced her. Her heart twisted as a pain worse than anything Sampson had just ravaged on her body shot through her core, ripping her in two. Marek believed
him
. Her alleged betrayal splashed across his face in an agonizing, vulnerable openness. How could Marek believe
him
?

Her eyes pleaded, willing Marek to see the truth, but he turned away and gripped Sampson’s shoulder, acknowledging a deed well done. “Thank you, my friend,” he said in a clipped tone.

She crumbled inside, standing alone in her wet, filthy clothes—bruised and broken. She glanced at Damon and the two soldiers. The soldiers still refused to look at her, but Damon’s brown, shrewd eyes saw her. She focused on Damon. He had saved her from an indescribable horror. Although she should’ve been grateful, she couldn’t draw any comfort from his noble act that would quell the hollow ache devouring her. A cold numbness enveloped her, buffering her against the devastating pain Marek had just inflicted without ever raising his hand.

Marek spoke, but in her ears his voice floated in the distance. “We’ll have to expand the search area,” he snapped. “We must find him, Sampson.”

Sampson nodded. “We will.”

She peered at her muddy shoes. Without doubt, she knew Sampson would scour up some poor soul to be her lover to complete his charade. She closed her eyes and exhaled a ragged breath. Except for her battered pride, she had nothing left. She gathered up her wounded soul, and although it hurt to do so, stood tall. She looked at Damon. He did save her, after all. But when she nodded in thanks, he glanced away. She’d been branded, a mistress who had sacrificed her virtue for a lover.

With Damon’s dismissal, she decided to leave. She’d been accused and found guilty. Now, she just awaited final judgment. With shuffling footsteps, she turned for the castle. She felt their eyes slicing into her back as if stripping the flesh from her body. She used every ounce of courage to keep her posture straight and stride measured. Only when the thick, redwood timbered door was latched behind her did she allow the tears to fall as she struggled up the stairs to the sanctuary of her room.

****

When Marek first glimpsed Carina’s tear-streaked face and torn clothing, insuppressible rage tore through his gut, flooding every muscle in his body with adrenaline. Like a chain reaction, power surged inside him and hardened his mind to the task at hand—annihilating the person who had dared touch her. The rage overloaded and suffocated his mind from rational thought. But when she crumpled into his body, a sudden need to protect her curbed the pounding anger.

Her body melted into him. He wanted to hold her and tell her she was safe. But guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders as her every tremble crashed through him, every hot tear scorched him, and every whimpered breath ripped apart his soul—piece by agonizing piece.

He shouldn’t have left her alone for so long, but matters of his kingdom had been very demanding. Even though he hadn’t spent much time with her since returning, she filled his mind during those rare, quiet moments when no one required his attention. So, after dispatching Criton riders to Dalia, he’d decided to focus on what he wanted…Carina. Knowing her propensity for adventure, he hadn’t been concerned that she was away from the castle until Sampson had returned and told him of the betrayal—shattering his world.

At first, he refused to believe Sampson’s claim. But when he saw the ripped blouse and disheveled hair bespeaking of an over anxious lover, his anger had turned inward. Marissa had warned him, but he chose not to listen. He had found himself wanting and hoping when in reality, he’d been a fool.

Carina’s treachery seared his heart, shriveling it into a charred, non-beating organ. With Carina, he’d been willing to reveal himself, to share and expose his concerns as a king, desires as a man, and hopes for a family. How could he have been so blind?

Justice controlled his heart now, filling the terrible black void. He had to calm down. But every time he thought of another man touching Carina, his rage exploded into a twisted mass of darkness. The rage blurred his vision, turning everything into drab shades of grey, and pumped hot blood through his body, fueling his need for revenge.

Carina’s lover would die for his indiscretion. The traitor could run, but Marek would find him. He could hide, but no inn, house, or stable would shelter him from Marek’s wrath. The coward had forfeited his life the moment he’d laid hands on Carina, and Marek would personally send the bastard on his journey to Haden.

Marek inhaled a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. After Carina had disappeared into the castle, Stirrlan’s protective walls had become too confining. Storming through the main entrance, he’d left the gatehouse and everything behind and now stood at a pasture fence where coursers grazed. A stable boy would soon drive them inside the walls for the night.

He placed a boot on the bottom rail and crossed his arms over the top bar, gazing at the sun as it kissed the horizon in the distance. Sampson had gone to ready FireStrike. They’d only have a short search window before sunset, but he needed to be in the air. He hoped the cooling wind in his face would loosen the vice-grip hold of the unseen hand constricting his chest so he could breathe again.

“Excuse me, Sire.” Damon’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Marek forced the pain into a corner of his heart and stepped away from the fence. “What is it?”

“Sire, DarkStar and I searched the area at Sampson’s request and found nothing.”

He frowned. DarkStar and Damon were his best trackers and if they found nothing, it usually meant there was nothing to find. “Sampson said—”

“Aye, I heard him. But I can assure you,
we
found no one. DarkStar didn’t even pick up a scent. Nothing.”

Marek stared at Damon as he processed this new information. Why would Sampson accuse Carina of such treachery? And why did she look like she’d been through a tornado? His mind whirled. If she wasn’t with an overzealous lover, then what had happened?

Damon stood at attention, refusing to look him in the eyes. “You should also know I offered to stand as witness.”

Marek shook his head. “What in Criton’s breath are you talking about?”

“Carina denied Sampson’s accusation that she betrayed you, even after Sampson struck her. He was going to prove her denial a falsehood, so I agreed to determine who was…correct.”

Marek glanced toward the castle, his eyes skimming over the curtain wall and traveling to Carina’s window. Her room remained dark, a black eye in a house full of light. Although Sampson had been disappointed when he chose Carina, even hotheaded Sampson wouldn’t commit such an act against him…would he? No, Damon’s words couldn’t be true. Sampson was captain of his army, a bonded Criton rider…his best friend. Sampson would never dishonor him in such a manner.